One Night Only
by FlashFiction
Summary: Because the students weren't the only ones who stressed over, got excited for and attended the Yule Ball. One night as told through the stories of a few female professors.
1. Christmas Day

**Author's Note: **I've been reading the Goblet of Fire, as I currently am trying to re-read all the Harry Potter books, and it occurred to me that the Yule Ball from the teacher's perspectives would be a fun thing to write about. I'm planning to split it into a few different chapters. There are details from canon that I've tried to include (who was dancing with who etc) but there really is a lot of scope for me to delve into my own imagination. I've focused on my favourite group of teachers, Minerva, Pomona, Rolanda, Poppy, Septima and Aurora, because I like to believe that they're kind of a wee gang that hangs out together. I had a great time creating their great time; hopefully you'll have one reading about it!

**Christmas Day**

"If I never hang another bauble in my life, it will be too soon!"

With that declaration, Minerva McGonagall collapsed into her favourite chair, situated at the edge of the staffroom. Pomona Sprout, who had followed the other witch in, nodded her head in enthusiastic agreement and pulled up another chair, so that she might also collapse down into it. The pair had spent the majority of the after lunch period helping to decorate the Great Hall in preparation for the Yule Ball, a celebration that was to be held in the evening. A room of not unsizable proportions, the task had taken longer than anticipated and both witches were now exhausted. Joining their friends, who were already seated, was a welcome respite. Septima Vector sat on a couch, chatting to Aurora Sinistra. Rolanda Hooch was sitting on the floor by the fire, polishing her broom (Minerva suspected the mess made by the bristles would not be appreciated by the Hogwarts caretaker). Poppy Pomfrey lounged lazily in an armchair, her eyes dozily watching the fire's dancing flames.

"Whose fault was it for volunteering?" Septima said, a slight sound of smugness in her voice.

The Arthimancy professor had made doubly sure that she missed the meeting when Albus Dumbledore had been asking for recruits.

"You'd have volunteered too," Minerva mumbled, "with Albus going on about "honouring the duties and commitments of Head of House"."

Severus Snape, who was sitting a little distance away, looked up from the magazine he was reading.

"I managed to get out of it," he commented.

"Yes," Minerva said savagely, "because parties, celebrations and having a good time in general are against your religion."

"Cold," Severus replied, with a small smirk, going back to his reading.

"But true," Rolanda added.

Pomona managed to sit up straight, letting a sigh.

"He has a point though," she said, in a voice that was unusually grumpy, "I mean, why do we need to have a ball? Dancing, of all things?"

Rolanda turned her head in surprise.

"Dancing is the best part!" the tiny witch exclaimed, jumping to her feet, "I wouldn't have let them cancel Quidditch if I wasn't going to get to dance instead!"

"I'm looking forward to it too," Aurora said, beaming.

As the youngest member of the faculty, Aurora still got excited about things like that. She was too young to have experienced a Yule Ball during her time at school, so this would be her first experience of it. Not to mention, it meant she got to wear really high shoes; as an astronomy teacher, those opportunities didn't come around a lot.

"I hear Mad Eye has got you dancing in any case," Septima said slyly.

Aurora blushed a little.

"He thought he ought to make an appearance, to leave a good impression," she explained, "and decided that I would be a suitable partner."

"Suitable partner," Septima echoed sarcastically, "How painfully romantic."

"Oh it's nothing like that," Aurora snapped.

"Of course it isn't," Rolanda said, "It's because she's small and non-threatening. He's assessed the options and has decided that, of all of us, Aurora will be the least likely to randomly attack him in the middle of a cha-cha."

And all those who knew Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody thought this was a much more feasible explanation for his actions.

"Well, I'm excited!" Aurora said again, crossing her hands in her lap, "I've never been to a ball before!"

"Basic run down," Poppy said, who was in an uncharacteristically bad mood, "It's a evening of trying to get drunk enough to stay sane, whilst trying to stay sober enough to tell students off for being just as drunk as you are."

Pomona smiled and Minerva muttered something that might've been "amen". Aurora looked a little shocked at the general reaction of her colleagues. Rolanda too seemed dismayed at the attitudes of her friends.

"Come on, you hopeless old people," she whined, "Live a little! We're going to have a great time."

She went up to each person in turn, speaking as if what she had to say was the most inspirational thing to ever be voiced.

"Pomona," she said, "there will be music and food and copious amounts of alcohol that we'll all pretend not to know about; you don't even have to dance if you don't want to. Poppy, I don't know why you're so surly this afternoon, but you've always been the belle of the ball, so buck up. Minerva, you'll have a good time when you get there. And Septima, you haven't complained, but I daresay you will, so don't."

Poppy crossed her arms and went back to staring at the fire, though she looked slightly pacified. Septima looked affronted, but Pomona and Minerva both conceded with a little smile.

"I guess everyone will be there," Pomona shrugged, "Ludo Bagman. I never thought I'd get to say I'd been at the same party as him!"

"I know," Septima agreed, who was one of the younger teachers, but still old enough to have heard of him.

"A fine player of Quidditch if ever there was one," Rolanda said proudly.

She'd been a team mate of his when they'd both played for England.

"And he was very good looking," Poppy admitted.

"So good looking," Minerva sighed, sounding very unlike her usual self.

The older generation drifted into silent reminiscences of the aged sporting star, leaving Aurora sitting around, looking confused. She'd heard of him, of course; with the Triwizard Tournament going on, who hadn't heard of him. But she wasn't quite the right age to be remembering him with such fervent, fanatic passion as the others and, in any case, she'd never been big on Quidditch.

"Hey," she said, snapping her fingers in front of the nearest face, which happened to be Septima's, "The present day called and it'd like you all to come back!"

Pomona mumbled an apology, whilst Septima recovered from the shock of having been snapped at. Rolanda just grinned, catching Poppy's eye, who, despite her mood, grinned as well. Minerva straightened her back, regaining her composure with a quiet, embarrassed cough.

"He was very good looking though," she said throatily.

At that moment, Aurora glanced at her watch and let out a squeal.

"Septima," she cried, pulling the other witch to her feet, "it's five o'clock! We have to go get ready."

Severus, who had been watching from the corner of his eye, looked down at his watch and then stared back at her incredulously.

"You have three hours," he said in disbelief.

"It might take that long," Septima said in a flat voice, and she was dragged out of the room by an excited Aurora.

Rolanda smiled fondly as the pair left and then stood up herself.

"I think I'll go for a quick fly before I have to get changed," she said, picking up her broomstick from the floor and slinging it over her shoulder, almost knocking a vase from the mantel piece, "See you all at the party!"

A few minutes after her departure, Poppy stood up too. Her twisting hands and the obvious nerves in her voice perhaps explained the way she had been acting.

"Maybe we should get ready too?" she suggested, with some trepidation.

"Why?" Minerva scoffed, "We're not students! We don't have to put a ridiculous amount of effort into what we're wearing."

"But," Poppy said, quoting Septima "_it might take that long!_"

Minerva stared her down for a second and then let out a sigh. She could see it meant a lot to her friend. She had her suspicions why, but she didn't voice them. Pushing herself out of her chair, Minerva headed for the door, behind Poppy and flanked by Pomona, who didn't want to feel left out. The witches then went their separate ways, to their rooms, to prepare for what promised to be, at the very least, an interesting night.


	2. Minerva

**Author's Note: **Usual story; I've been busy. Anyways, here's the next part of the story. I plan to do little bits of them getting ready and then little bits at the actual ball. Yeah. This could take awhile. Still, enjoy!

**Minerva **

Minerva stood in front of her mirror, her hands on her stomach, testing the effect of her patterned dress robes on the width of her stomach. They were made of red tartan, McGonagall tartan in fact. Minerva had come across the material in a shop during the holidays and had immediately ordered a dress made out of it. The finished product had a tight fitted bodice, with a relatively high neck, sleeves that hugged her arms all the way down to her wrists and a floor length, gown-like skirt.

The witch surveyed the overall effect that it had and let out a breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. It looked okay, she supposed. Her figure had always been quite good; skinny, her mother had complained, far too skinny. But, despite Mrs McGonagall's best intentions, all the home cooked food in the world could not alter her daughter's tall, angular frame. Time, however, had done quite a good job at altering her face. It was lined, more haggard, her cheek bones extremely defined and the skin around her eyes darker. Years of worry and responsibility were written in and over her sharp features, highlighting the passing time in a way she wasn't particularly fond of. Minerva had never been one of those desperate women who tried beyond hope to conceal their age (Septima Vector sprung to her mind) but she still didn't like to admit that she wasn't as young as she had been. Sitting down at her desk, she picked up the hat that lay there, took her wand in the other hand, and began to clean it as best she could; like her, the hat had been through a lot and it wasn't looking in its prime.

As she cleaned, Minerva began to think about the atmosphere that had overtaken the school in the last few weeks, ever since the Yule Ball had been announced. Just about every girl this side of the senior school had taken immediate leave of their senses. Minerva was always conscious that things like young men and romance might be things that girls of that age would suddenly take an interest in, but she liked to think that they would still manage some self respect. However, the amount of giggling that had gone on in the school was driving her the point of insanity; if she heard the words "oh my god, he just asked me" in a high pitched tone one more time, she wasn't going to be responsible for her actions. As well as setting her teeth on edge, it worried her a little. While the Yule was technically a dance, it was still an event at which they would be representing Hogwarts. Any misdemeanours would reflect very poorly on the school, something she was afraid would be forgotten in amongst the Christmas frivolity. And it wasn't only students; anyone who'd seen Rolanda after a few glasses of eggnog would not discredit the suggestion that it might be prudent to keep her on a leash. Minerva only hoped that she remembered why they were there.

Placing her wand down, Minerva turned the hat around, surveying from all different angles. Satisfied with her work, she put the hat back on the desk and pulled open one of the drawers. From this, she took a wreath, made of purple thistle flowers, and secured it around the brim of her hat. Looking at her handiwork, she smiled slightly to herself.

"It's horrifically ugly," Rolanda had commented when she bought it, "you _do _know that?"

But Minerva didn't think it ugly in the slightest. On the contrary, it reminded her of some of the most beautiful times of her life, growing up in the Scottish Highlands, running and shouting with her brothers, reading with her father, playing the piano with her mother. It was a past that had meant a lot her, a past that still tried to define her today, the young girl still occasionally wanting to burst forth from the grown woman. Perhaps tonight, she would once again feel that rush of being young, that buzz and simple joy that came from having nothing to worry about. Minerva quickly shook her head; no, that wasn't her purpose, not now. She'd had her good time, now it was someone else's turn. Still, it was a party. Maybe she'd be permitted just a _little _fun.


	3. Poppy

**Poppy **

For what seemed like the millionth time, Poppy let out a groan of despair and savagely wiped the lipstick off her mouth. She just could not get it right! It was either so light that it couldn't be seen or it was so dark that she looked like what her mother had labelled "women of doubtful reputation". Make-up was not really her strong point. As the matron, she didn't wear it on a regular basis. Poppy had always fallen into the category of "pretty girls", with her big, brown doe-eyes, heart shaped face and warm smile. During her teenage years, she'd been so pretty that she'd broken approximately 65 hearts, according to the extensive charts that a teenage Minerva had drawn up on the subject. That had all been done without make-up. But, as she aged, she felt that her natural beauty would need a helping hand if it was to achieve the same effect. Not that Poppy had a particular wish to break hearts tonight. In fact, her desire was the complete opposite; she wished to win a heart.

Poppy had spent her entire life being mostly oblivious (usually intentionally) to the affections of the men who pursued her. So, she wondered, was it some kind of sick irony that, when she finally found someone to care about, he was completely unaware of how she felt? Filius Flitwick was, she'd concluded a long time ago, special. He was a gentleman, in the true sense of the word, always polite, discreet, kind. He'd been so good to her when she'd first begun at Hogwarts; with only a few years of teaching behind him, he had understood how it felt to be new. Poppy couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when her feelings for Filius had moved past friendship. She just remembered having smiled at something he'd said, brushing off Rolanda's teasing and then thinking, with a slightly painful jolt, _my God, I think I love him_. That had been a couple years ago. She hadn't yet worked up the courage to tell him plainly how she felt. And her hinting had, thus far, done nothing.

Still, she continued to hint. She continued to laugh and smile and hang on to every word. She continued to get dressed up for occasions like this, in the hope that he might notice. He never did. And, after so long, Poppy began to wonder if, maybe, he was never going to. It was this feeling that had been causing her mood, making her angry at times and nervous and emotional at others. Sitting in the staff room earlier, staring at the jumping flames, wrapped in her coma of confusion, she'd decided that she couldn't live like this. It was getting too hard. Tonight, at the ball, was going to be the final stand, a last-ditch attempt to convey the feelings she found so hard to voice. That was why she needed her make-up to be perfect.

Her hand shaking slightly, she gently applied her lipstick one more time and decided that it would have to suffice. Looking in the mirror, she stared intently into her own eyes, frozen for a second, and then let out a sigh.

"You're pathetic," she said out loud, "A grown woman and just look at you!"

Would her friends think she was pathetic, for the way she was going on about Filius? She'd never discussed it with them, though she suspected some had probably guessed. She certainly wasn't going to tell them that she'd bought a new dress especially for the ball. The deep red satin and chiffon creation suited her, the "belle of the ball" as Rolanda had said, but the amount she'd paid for something that she was only going to wear once was ridiculous. Minerva most probably would think that, although it was hard to tell with her. Pomona too, as the squat little witch put little value on material things. Aurora would think it extravagant, but pretty, and be very nice about the whole thing. Rolanda would probably laugh and take it as confirmation that her (perfectly correct) suspicions about Poppy were true. The only one who wouldn't think much of it would be Septima. But she always seemed to wearing clothes that cost more than her house, so could hardly be considered a good example of rational spending.

Poppy looked at the clock, the ticking of the second ringing in her ears, the clanging chimes counting down to her impending doom. That was perhaps a little too dramatic, but she really was nervous now, the butterflies in her stomach feeling more like bloody great hippogriffs. _What if he doesn't notice_, a little voice in her head was whispering, _what will you do then?_ Poppy didn't know how to answer, because an even quieter voice was saying hopefully, _what if he does? _


	4. Pomona

**Pomona **

Pomona's getting ready routine was perhaps the most simple of anybody in the castle; she ran a comb through her hair, put on the only dress robes she had for formal occasions (ones in an earthy-green colour) and voila, she was done. Pomona had never cared a lot about her appearance. She liked to wear what she liked to wear and she wasn't interested in trying to look a certain way to please people. Even for something like this, she wasn't going to make a massive effort. This was because, over the years, she'd come to the conclusion that primping and preening wasn't going to make much of a difference in the end. Perhaps if she had been uncommonly pretty, like Poppy or Septima, then she would've cared more, but Pomona had always been a homely type. She didn't mind, not like she had went she was a girl; she'd come to accept that her frizzy hair wasn't going anywhere, her plump figure wasn't going to thin and she wasn't likely to grow any taller. On a day to day basis, it never bothered her; the plants in the greenhouses didn't care if her hat was askew or if her robes weren't the most flattering. And, in Pomona's experience, the people who really mattered weren't going to care either. She had many friends, more than she could count, and that was down to her kind and generous nature.

So, as she plopped herself down on the bed, it wasn't her appearance that caused her to cross her arms grumpily. The idea of the Yule Ball was so unappealing for quite a different reason; Pomona couldn't dance. She had no sense of rhythm and lack all kinds of grace, finding that she always ended up staring down at her feet, trying and failing to put them in the right order, not enjoying the experience at all. But it wasn't just the dancing. It was that Pomona never felt like she belonged in situations that required the ability to dance. Picnics, barbecues, Christmas parties and casual cups of tea were all things that Pomona could handle. But balls, galas, formal dinners and luncheons were another matter entirely. She wasn't made to drink cocktails and make small talk with various important dignitaries; it just wasn't her!

Letting herself fall backwards onto the bed, Pomona contemplated what tonight was actually going to be like. It wouldn't be as formal as all that, she supposed, not if some of the students and Rolanda had anything to do with it. She hardly ever said it out loud, but Pomona greatly admired Rolanda. The Quidditch mistress had this startling ability to make friends and admirers where ever she went. Her limitless energy, husky voice and boisterous laugh seemed to fit in no matter where she was. Rolanda was, like Pomona, not one who believed in being something she wasn't for other people, but who and what she was managed to work anywhere. Pomona had once asked what her secret was. Rolanda had laughed and replied "complete arrogant confidence."

"If you act like you belong," she had said, "then most people will assume that you do."

But Pomona just couldn't do it.

It would've been alright if it had just been Hogwarts at the ball; her own students and colleagues knew her well enough to make her feel comfortable. But she couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the visitors, particularly the Beauxbatons delegation, who seemed to think themselves above everyone. Madame Maxime was pleasant enough, even expressing congratulations on the wonderful standard of the greenhouses, but her girls were less forgiving. Pomona was fairly sure she had seen a couple of them whispering and giggling at her dirt covered robes, so she wasn't holding up hopes for how they'd react to her now. Pomona sighed. People could be so cruel. They'd look down on you for being different and then laugh at you when you tried to change. It was this experience of people that had actually strengthened her, allowing her to be more comfortable and easy with who she was. But, as her father had once said to her, even the strongest trees will sway in the wind and it was times like this that Pomona felt herself beginning to sway.

She took a deep breath, getting to her feet. If she had to face this, she was going to do it with some dignity. Pomona looked at the mirror and sighed once more, but the expression on her face was resolute. It was just one night. She could make it through.


	5. Rolanda

**Author's Note: **So I woke up this morning and thought I could do one of two things. Either I could work on all the important things that have been pressing on my mind for weeks or I could write some fan fiction. Obviously the only way to go was option two.

**Rolanda**

Why Hogwarts didn't have a Yule Ball every year was completely beyond Rolanda. Why all her friends were so dead set against it was also a mystery. Standing in her room, having just showered after her ride, Rolanda couldn't think of anything she would rather be doing than going to the party tonight. Because that was all it really was; a massive party. Yes, it was a formal and dignified occasion testing the decorum of each participating school, blah blah blah, something Minerva had said, but that wasn't going to stop Rolanda enjoying herself. There were very few things that stopped Rolanda enjoying herself.

Opening the door of her wardrobe, Rolanda flicked through her collection of party outfits, trying to decide which would be the best to wear. She liked to make spur of the moment decisions, to see what felt right at the time, as opposed to planning ahead in detail. She looked at her bright green and red robes, the ones she usually wore for Christmas, but decided against them; they were a slight novelty, with the reindeer pattern that ran (literally) around the hem, and Rolanda thought perhaps Minerva would appreciate it if she went for something a little more sophisticated. Rolanda didn't mind accommodating her friend; getting dressed up was getting dressed up, whether it was formal or frivolous.

In the end, she decided on a set of robes coloured a bright, shiny, metallic silver. They had been tailor-made for the Qudditch mistress by a designer in London, inspired by the flying robes that Rolanda wore so often, with trousers instead of a skirt and a well fitted jacket buttoning across her chest on an angle. The overall look, she felt, was elegant but edgy and androgynous, fitting perfectly with her desired aesthetic. She wasn't a particularly feminine person, she never had been, so using her slightly boyish charm to her advantage was something Rolanda had learnt to do over many years. And, though she wasn't exactly pretty either, she was attractive, attractive to all sorts of people. There was something about her that made heads turn, although, admittedly, they were sometimes turns of terror or confusion, as opposed to ones of longing. It was funny, Poppy had told her the other day, how one moment she could be an energetic, irrepressible, crazy child and the next she was a sultry, mature temptress, who could ruin a marriage with just one smile. Rolanda had just winked and grinned and maintained the air of mystery that she felt went along with those two personas.

Who would she be tonight, she wondered? Given that it was a school event and most of the attendees would be either students or boring Ministry people, like (what was his name again?) Barry Crouch, Rolanda doubted that the temptress would be making an appearance. But, who knew? Stranger things had happened; Rolanda could testify to that.

Walking to her cupboard, Rolanda retrieved a bottle and a glass, placing them both down on her bedside table. She uncorked the bottle with a flick of her wand and poured the blood red liquid into the glass. It was Rolanda's favourite drink, an elf-made Pinot Noir, coming all the way from the wizarding vineyards of Central Otago, New Zealand. Her eyes closed, she took a sip and then let out a contented sigh; it really was the best. Minerva had caught her smuggling the wine into her room earlier that week.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing with that?" the witch had asked.

"I bought it," Rolanda had replied, quite casually.

Minerva's eyes had thinned, something that, Rolanda felt, always seemed to precede the latter witch getting into trouble.

"What?" Minerva had said sharply, "How?"

"Let's just say that there are some Hufflepuffs who aren't as straight laced as everyone would like to believe," Rolanda answered.

She had left it at that; Minerva was under a lot of pressure, but she wasn't about to reveal her sources. Looking back at the incident now, Rolanda could perhaps see why Minerva always became so anxious about big events, particularly when she was involved. Her reputation wasn't exactly spotless, that was true. Minerva had once said, in a momentary outburst of bad temper, that, had Quidditch not paid so well, Rolanda would've been the poster girl for anarchy. Rolanda thought this comment was a little harsh, but, during moments of self-reflection, she could see elements of truth in it.

The trouble was that Rolanda just loved to have a good time. What else was there to do? Being alive was an imperfect life state; Rolanda had learnt that the hard way, obtaining a first class degree from the school of hard knocks. However, she'd also learnt that there was often nothing you could do about it. You could dwell on all that had gone wrong, on all that you didn't have and would never have, or you could make the most of what was there. Rolanda lived by the second option and, though it sometimes backfired, she didn't have many regrets. Not really.

To behave or not to behave? That was the question. Rolanda thought about it. Then she drained the remainder of her drink and smiled to herself. She suspected that Minerva would possibly disapprove of her answer.


	6. Septima and Aurora

**Septima and Aurora**

Aurora was only ten years out of school and only eight years into her teaching position at Hogwarts, making her the youngest member on the staff. Sitting at her mirror, trying to fix her hair, she was reminded of this when it occurred to her that some of the students attending the ball tonight were siblings of people she'd been at school with. A smaller number were offspring, which made her feel a little more senior, but still she couldn't help but remember how she was their age not so long ago. Perhaps it was her youth that made her so excited for what was to come. Aurora had been excited since the ball had been announced, at the end of the last school year, during the annual closing staff meeting. She'd gone straight out and bought her dress, a baby pink dress (the colour clashing slightly with her bright red hair) with short, floaty sleeves and a chiffon skirt. The shoes had been acquired a little later and they were made of a similarly pink suede with six inch wedge heels. She had shown them to Pomona at the beginning of the term and the little witch had nearly fainted at the height. Aurora glanced down the shoes, now on her feet, and smiled; she always felt so much better in heels.

"Well," a voice came from the doorway, "don't we look sweet!"

Aurora turned to see Septima leaning against the door frame, a smile on her face.

"And don't we look devastating," the younger witch replied, scanning her friend's outfit.

Devastating was an accurate description. Septima was a woman who knew exactly how to dress in a way that highlighted her best features, something Aurora envied. Of course, it did help that most of Septima's features qualified as best. With her jet black hair, next to perfect pale skin (a few lines here or there didn't count) and hourglass figure, Septima could've made a potato sack look like couture. Tonight, however, she was wearing a black wrap dress, floor length, the style emphasizing her tiny waist. The neckline was low, low enough for even Aurora to question its appropriateness, but, she had to admit, it looked good. Septima's hair was pulled back, further defining her sharp cheekbones, her deep brown eyes standing out in her light face. Aurora could only hope that in 25 years, when she was Septima's age, she would look that good.

"Going to break some hearts?" she teased, "Turn some heads?"

Septima shrugged, her eyes sparking.

"All in a day's work," she replied.

Aurora turned back to the mirror and continued trying to do her hair; she had been attempting to put it back in lots of little curls, but it really wasn't working. With a sigh, Septima went over.

"Stop playing with it," the older witch said, knocking Aurora's hand out of the way, "Let me do it."

Septima's more experienced hands made light work of the task. Aurora watched as her friend concentrated, a serious expression on her face. The feeling of having somebody else do her hair was not one that the Astronomy professor was used to; she had grown up with two brothers, neither of whom had found hairdressing a particularly appealing pass time. Her mother, between shifts at work, had occasionally tried to give her daughter makeovers, but her skill level was not high and their resources (due a very tight budget) were always limited, so, whilst it usually resulted in a good laugh between them, it was nothing special. Having somebody sleek and sophisticated, like Septima, making her too look sleek and sophisticated, was an experience that Aurora savoured; this had to be how the other half lived.

"You're very quiet," Septima commented after awhile.

Aurora, who had subconsciously closed her eyes, opened them again and stared at the reflection in the mirror.

"I'm just not used to this," she admitted.

Septima raised an eyebrow.

"Not used to what?"

"Any of this!" Aurora exclaimed, "I mean, getting my hair done, wearing fancy dresses and shoes. It's all terribly exciting. Don't you think?"

"No," was the curt answer that Aurora received.

"No?" the girl said in confusion.

"No," Septima repeated.

Aurora stared intently at her friend, indicating that she expected an explanation for such a response. Septima just stared back, before caving with a small breath.

"I've just been there too many times before," she said quietly, "That's all."

Aurora gestured for her to continue and she did, be it reluctantly.

"My parents worked for the Muggle equivalent of the Ministry," Septima explained, "so I spent my childhood being forced to appear at various important society functions and occasions."

"That sounds exciting!" Aurora said in earnest.

"It's not," Septima shook her head, "Not really. Well, not when it make you realize that your parents care more about Lord So and So, Chancellor of God-Knows-What, than they do about you."

Her voice was full of bitterness. That, Aurora had to concede, was not unusual. But, for some reason, she had never stopped to think that maybe there was a reason for that bitterness. She was almost ashamed of it; Septima was probably her closest friend at the school, but she had never stopped to wonder why the older woman was so cynical.

"It's not going to be like that," Aurora said forcefully, a promise in her voice, "Not tonight. You're the interesting one now. You're the one the people care about."

Septima gazed down at her young companion, who stared back with wide, blue, hopeful eyes, and she smiled.

"I never doubt it, Darling," she whispered.

And, though she wasn't quite sure if she believed it, Aurora replied, "good."

"But this is your night," Septima went on, "Whatever I'm feeling, I want you to enjoy yourself."

Aurora was sure that she would.


	7. Christmas Night

**Author's Note: **So, after this point, the chapters are going to be named after the main person in them, but the story lines will probably cross over and I may jump from person to person and time to time. Hopefully it won't be too confusing. Hopefully it will be full of fun and laughter! Hopefully.

**Christmas Night**

When eight o'clock came, Minerva was standing in the entrance hall, shepherding students and staff alike into the hall. She had just ordered the four Champions to stand aside and things seemed to be going okay; they'd all turned up, with partners, which was the main thing, Minerva supposed. She did think that forcing the task of asking someone upon the unsuspecting students was a little unfair, but, hey, that was tradition! And the four hadn't done that badly; Ms Delacour was with a Hogwarts student, giving Minerva a smug sense of satisfaction; Diggory had Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, on his arm, and she looked very elegant in her champagne coloured dress, making one half of a very attractive pair; Potter was with Miss Patil, who looked a lot happier than her sister, whom Minerva had just seen entering the hall with Ronald Weasley. But it was Viktor Krum's partner that had made Minerva double take. At first she'd dismissed the radiant brunette as just another Beuaxtons girl, but, to her immense surprise and pleasure, it was none other than Gryffindor's own Hermione Granger. The young witch looked unusually beautiful and her grinning face filled Minerva up with a sort of second hand happiness. This was short lived, as Minerva returned to her job. Her stress levels were at breaking point, as she imagined all the things that could go wrong.

Aurora and Septima were the first to make their way to the Great Hall. They walked arm in arm, with Aurora giggling like mad and Septima looking upon her as an indulgent parent might their hyperactive child. The elder of the two gave Minerva a slightly sarcastic smile as they passed, which the latter returned in kind.

"Good luck," Septima called, laughing just a little bit.

"Thank you," Minerva replied coldly.

Next was Pomona, who greeted Minerva with a sigh.

"There, there," Minerva said flatly, patting her friend on the shoulder, "It'll all be over soon."

Pomona nodded and then, looking a bit guilty, she said, "am I a bad person for feeling like this?"

"No," Minerva assured her, sending her into the hall with a little push, "You're just rational. I'll see you in there."

Poppy, who appeared to be on a mission, walked straight through the doors without stopping to talk to anybody. Minerva watched her, feeling rather concerned; she suspected something was going on in her friend's mind that she wasn't sharing. Poppy was a very private person and sometimes it meant that her true feelings didn't come out until it was too late.

Rolanda arrived, as usual, on the cusp of lateness. She spied Minerva standing by the entrance and sauntered over, giving a spin to show off her robes.

"You look very nice," Minerva commented, unable to stop a small smile coming out.

"And you look very Scottish," Rolanda said with a grin.

"Which in my book equates to the same thing," Minerva said.

She wondered whether she should ask Rolanda to refrain from making this evening into another of her noteworthy antics, but thought that putting the idea into her head might make it more likely to happen. However, Rolanda seemed to able to sense Minerva's worry.

"You need to calm down," the Quidditch mistress said.

Minerva took a deep breath, trying to keep from exploding.

"I'll calm down when this is over," she said quietly, "Why do I seem to be the only one concerned with how this evening could reflect on the school?"

"Because," Rolanda said with an exasperated sigh, "you seem to be the only one who hasn't accepted that kids will be kids."

"And that I will be me," she added with a cheeky grin.

Minerva gave her the most scathing look she could muster, but Rolanda just laughed.

"Minerva, my darling," she said, taking the taller witch by the shoulders, "I mean this in the most loving way possible, but sometimes you can be far too uptight and grouchy."

"_Grouchy_?" Minerva exclaimed indignantly.

"Yes," Rolanda bowled onwards, ignoring Minerva's annoyance, "I won't have it tonight. It's a party and it's Christmas! I'm begging you, for your own sanity as well as everybody else's, try and be a little less responsible and a little more free. Who knows: you might enjoy it!"

Minerva still looked reluctant, so Rolanda said "would it help if I promised not to go completely crazy?"

"A little," Minerva nodded.

"Okay," Rolanda said, with a slightly patronizing tone to her voice, "I'll promise to keep the anarchy to a minimum, if you promise to have at least one drink, dance at least two dances and smile, only occasionally."

And then she put on her most persuasive of puppy-dog eyes.

"I'm going to regret this-" Minerva began.

"-probably-" Rolanda agreed.

"-but alright," she sighed, actually quite glad that Rolanda was holding her to it.

If she'd had any doubts about whether her night would contain some fun, Minerva no longer had them; once you promised Rolanda something, it was generally best to stick to it. The nerves in her stomach were still there, but she did feel a little better.

"Good," Rolanda beamed, "Besides, it's just one night of fun."

"Not if you have anything to do with it," Minerva said, "Knowing you, the party will drag for most of the winter holidays."

"True enough," Rolanda admitted, not sounding the least bit sorry.

"Why we keep you is completely beyond me," Minerva said teasingly.

"You know you love me," her friend grinned.

"Mostly," Minerva said, pretending to think about it.

"Mostly?" Rolanda cried, pretending to be affronted, "I'm hurt now. You've just bought yourself another drink!"

"Done," Minerva said, smiling.

And she directed Rolanda into the Great Hall, so the festivities could begin.


	8. Rolanda, Part Two

**Author's Note: **I think that this is the longest chapter yet. I got a bit carried away with Rolanda, but she's so much fun. The observant amongst you will have noticed that the rating has gone up to 'T'. That's simply because there's a bit of flirting and innuendo in this chapter, but it's nothing serious. Enjoy :)

**Rolanda**

Keeping her promise of staying out of trouble was going to be much harder than Rolanda had anticipated. They had watched the Champions make their entrance. That had gone smoothly; Rolanda had clapped and cheered with everybody else. Then they had sat down for dinner. Rolanda had ordered her food and then engaged Filius Flitwick in a lively conversation about the merits of automatic brake charms on broomsticks. This had kept her occupied for about quarter of an hour and she felt that her evening was getting off to a good start. But _then_ she finished eating. And got bored. Everybody was so slow, she bemoaned to herself, why couldn't they all finish too, so the dancing could get underway? She began to gaze around, looking for something to do, wanting desperately for something fun to happen. Was it a medical condition, she wondered, the inability to sit still for long periods of time without feeling like causing chaos? Perhaps she should check with Poppy? Glancing over at her friend, who was staring at her plate with a serious expression, Rolanda decided it was best to let her be for the moment. Besides, she knew that it was mainly the promise she had made to Minerva that was causing this current feeling. As soon as she wasn't allowed to do something, Rolanda generally wanted to do it even more.

Looking around, Rolanda spotted Viktor Krum sitting at the top table, talking animatedly to his partner, Granger, the clever one. Rolanda had been meaning to speak to him all tournament, to congratulate him on his performance during the World Cup, one Quidditch player to another. Deciding that she couldn't do any harm simply talking to the boy, Rolanda got up from her seat and walked over. From the corner of her eye, she saw Minerva give her a sharp glance, something she ignored. Coming up to his seat, she gave a smile.

"Sorry to interrupt," she apologized, "but I have been meaning to compliment you on your flying at the World Cup. A fine display of skill, particularly the final."

Krum looked a little startled to find the witch beside him, but nodded politely.

"I thank you," he said in his thickly accented voice, "It means a lot, coming from a player of your standard."

Now Rolanda was surprised; she hadn't expected him to know her at all, given that her heyday was a long time ago. Krum, seeing her face, gave a quiet chuckle, a sound that one didn't expect to come from someone of his size.

"You are Rolanda Hooch?" he said, "Five times the Vorld Champion, three times vith Ireland, two times vith England. Even in Bulgaria ve have heard of you."

Feeling very pleased, Rolanda said "thank you very much. Nice to talk to you."

"Looking sharp, Granger," she added, giving the girl a slap on the back, causing her to wheeze slightly and give a weak smile.

Wandering away from the main table, Rolanda reflected on that interaction. She had so far maintained an air of respectable, responsible behaviour; nothing had been broken or burnt, she hadn't said anything inappropriate and there had been no alcohol involved. So far, very successful. But now what? That was how Rolanda's mind worked. Never one to dwell on the past, she was always thinking of things to come. People seated at tables around the Great Hall were still talking and eating, so Rolanda began a leisurely stroll about the room, making notes on outfits and admiring decorations. It was this admiration that led to her wondering whether or not she could hit a floating bauble with a dessert spoon. Her eyes had strayed to a place setting, when alarms bells started ringing in her head; she took herself out of that situation immediately.

_Slippery slope, Rolanda_,she told herself, _slippery slope_.

One minor, off hand attempt to knock the hovering trinket would probably turn into a full scale, cutlery-based assault, something Rolanda suspected would break her vow to her friend.

It was at this point that Rolanda noticed a bunch of wizards standing in a corner. They were too old (just) to be students and their long hair and ripped, black robes suggested they weren't part of the Ministry contingent either. Her curiosity aroused, Rolanda went closer to investigate. There were six of them and, upon noticing that one held a guitar and another kept banging the stone wall with a set of drum sticks, Rolanda deduced that they had to be the band that Albus Dumbledore had hired, the Weird Sisters. Though it was barely audible over the noise of the room, Rolanda listened to the soft strains that the guitar was making. She herself was not musical, having been forcibly removed from piano lessons aged seven, so she greatly admired the skill involved in playing what was clearly a very nice guitar.

"Can I help you with something?" a low voice with a slightly Scottish lilt asked.

Rolanda looked up and bit her lip; the wizard on the guitar was now staring at her inquiringly. He had long, wavy black hair and the clearest grey eyes Rolanda had ever seen. He also had an extremely nicely sculpted chest area, visible through the tears in his robes, something the witch spent a few seconds admiring. The alarm bells in her head were ringing again, but she managed to shut them out; she was only human after all and younger wizards, which this man clearly was, had always been her weakness. Half of her lips curled up into a smile. The temptress was beginning to awake.

"I was admiring your instrument," Rolanda said in response to his question, her voice a little breathier than usual.

The young man looked down at his guitar and then back at her and grinned.

"I was just warming up," he explained.

Rolanda nodded slowly.

"Weren't you just," she said quietly, her eyebrows slightly raised.

The man grinned again and began once more to play. Rolanda watched as his fingers danced along the neck of the guitar, careful to place themselves on the correct fret.

"You're good with your hands," she commented, when he had finished playing.

He looked at her with interest, as if trying to decide exactly what to make of her. Then he placed his guitar down, leaning it against the wall, and held out a hand.

"I'm Kirley Duke. Guitarist," he said, "People just call me Duke."

_I bet they do_ was what Rolanda thought in her head, but out loud she said simply, "pleasure," letting her fingers run down his palm as she pulled out of the handshake.

"What can I call you?" Duke asked, his eyes momentarily stuck on the place her fingers had just been.

"Whatever you like, sweetheart," Rolanda replied softly, a teasing smile dancing on her lips.

She was attracted to him and she tended not to have much self-control when that was the case, which worried her a little in regards to earlier promises made. But he was just so pretty.

"Well, how about your name first," Duke said, "and we'll see what springs to mind after that."

"Rolanda Hooch," she said, crossing her arms across her chest, "Go nuts."

Duke's brow furrowed and he cocked his head slightly, mouth open.

"Not Rolanda Hooch as in the international Quidditch star, voted most valuable player in the league three years in a row?" he said in astonishment.

Once again Rolanda was surprised that someone so famous (and so young) actually knew who she was.

"Also named most attractive in Witch Weekly," she said.

Duke nodded and said, "1965, '66 and '67."

Needless to say Rolanda was very impressed.

"Well," she said in a low, sultry voice, "Music and ancient history. Is there anything you're not an expert in, Mr Duke?"

The corners of the musician's mouth flicked upwards and he took a step towards her.

"Nothing that's important," he whispered.

The clear grey eyes stared directly at her and, had she not been startled by a noise from behind her, Rolanda would've gladly continued to let them do so. Turning around, she saw that everybody was getting up from their seats. Soon Albus had cleared the room of tables and conjured up a stage, on which Duke and the rest of the band were obviously going to play. She looked back at the young wizard, happy to be saved from disappointing Minerva, but a little annoyed that she'd have to let him go.

"I should probably get up there," Duke said, gesturing to the stage.

"It's what you're here for," Rolanda agreed.

She gave him one last smile and went to go, raising her hand in a quick goodbye. She stopped walking when Duke called out from behind her.

"I get off at midnight," he said.

Rolanda turned back slowly, one eyebrow raised in a definite question.

"That's nice," she replied.

"It could be," Duke answered back.

"It might well be," Rolanda said with a shrug, "if you're lucky."

Duke beamed.

"I am generally pretty lucky," he said.

Rolanda laughed, "then things look fairly good for you."

And she walked off.

Rolanda had done a quick pros and cons list in her head and had decided that, as the ball officially ended at midnight, and as she'd only promised to be good for the ball, she wasn't really doing anything wrong.


	9. Minerva, Part 2

**Author's Note: **So this is even longer than the last chapter! Once again, I got carried away and, once again, please enjoy :)

**Minerva **

After the dinner, Minerva, Aurora, Septima, Pomona and Poppy, through no prior planning, all found themselves in the same corner of the room, right next to the stage, watching the dancing. They had managed to secure themselves one of the few tables that hadn't been whisked away by magic and Poppy and Septima now sat at it, Poppy staring blankly into space and Septima leaning back on her chair, legs crossed, one arm folded across her chest, the other absentmindedly playing with a strand of hair. Aurora was standing, as were Pomona and Minerva, but she was bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, eager to join the champions on the dance floor, whereas the other two were doing it mostly out of duty. Rolanda came from across the other side of the room, slipping into a seat between her friends.

"You look like a bored society wife," she told Septima, who gave a bitter laugh.

"Do I?" Septima said flatly, "Mother would be so proud."

"Where were you?" Minerva asked, trying her best not to sound critical.

Rolanda gave a mysterious smile, one, Minerva felt, that was deliberately designed to annoy.

"Only places I shouldn't have been," Rolanda said nonchalantly, before laughing at her friend's reaction, "I wasn't breaking any promises, if that's what you were wondering. Now focus on the dancing, my darling. That's your boy out there, doing us all proud."

"Oi," Pomona interjected, "My boy too. Both of them doing us very proud."

Minerva agreed with both witches, as she went back to watching the Champions dance. Diggory certainly looked the part, his handsome face wearing a serious expression as he navigated his way around the floor. Harry wasn't doing too badly either, he was simply younger and a little less sure. But he was quite literally putting his best foot forward and Minerva was proud of him for that. Parvati was obviously steering, the Head of House having to bite her lip to keep from grinning; Gryffindor women, in her experience, tended to be leaders.

Soon more people entered onto the dance floor. This meant that Mad Eye Moody came clomping over to claim Aurora for his partner.

"Sinistra," he said briskly, holding out his hand.

Aurora took it, with a polite smile and a look of trepidation. Septima and Rolanda had turned their heads towards the wall, Septima's hand over her mouth, and, as the youngest was lead away, they burst into loud peels of laughter.

"Her face," Rolanda gasped, "Oh my god, her face!"

Pomona looked at both them disapprovingly.

"It's not that funny," she said.

"Oh, it really is," Septima replied, taking large breaths to steady herself.

She did an imitation of Aurora's face, widening her eyes, and her and Rolanda went into hysterics once more.

"Really you two," Minerva said, "have a little more respect. The number of years that man has sacrificed in service to our country-"

"-not to mention the number of body parts," Rolanda quipped, as they watched Aurora struggling to avoid his wooden leg.

Minerva felt an involuntary giggle escape her mouth and her hand shot up to stop it; even she had to admit, it was pretty funny. Poppy, who was momentarily roused from wherever she had been, managed a slight smile

"Speaking of dance partners," Rolanda said, wiping a tear from her eye, "retired Quidditch poster boy at nine o'clock. Not all at once!"

All the women's heads had snapped in the direction she was looking and they hastily turned back, trying to make the action seem natural. It was hard to miss what Rolanda was meaning; Ludo Bagman, decked in robes of bright purple accented with yellow stars, was making his way over to where the group was standing. Minerva got extremely excited, before remembering that women going crazy over famous men was something she frowned upon.

"He'll be coming for Rolanda," she said in a matter of fact voice, "They know each other."

Rolanda looked from Minerva to Ludo and back at Minerva, smiling.

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said in a sly tone.

Ludo Bagman still retained most of the good looks that had made him so popular as a young player. True, his once perfect physique was now rounder than it had been and his face, framed by his greying-blonde hair and chiseled jaw line, had more lines, but it wasn't exactly hard to see why he still turned a few heads. His blue eyes sparkled and he beamed as he came to a stop next to the group of witches.

"Ladies," he said in greeting, with a nod of his head, "Rolanda."

Rolanda raised her hand as a hello. Minerva mirrored his nod, trying to maintain a facade of classy indifference; this was difficult, as her mind kept going back to the life-sized poster she'd had of him when she was a teenager, a poster that she probably still had in a box somewhere. She turned her eyes to the dancers and watched with a previously thin, now intense interest. Ludo, standing beside her, didn't seem to be going anywhere, as he too turned to watch.

"Do you dance?" he asked after a few seconds.

Minerva, who had not been expecting him to speak to her, wasn't sure how to respond.

"Do you mean in general?" she said, a little more cooly than was perhaps necessary, "On a day to day basis?"

Behind her, Rolanda sniggered. Ludo smiled and looked down at his feet, a little nervously.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "that it was my roundabout way of asking if you wanted to."

Minerva's head jerk around, her mouth open in a manner that definitely did not go with classy indifference.

"Dance?" she questioned.

"Yes."

"With you?"

Ludo laughed and nodded.

"With me, Professor," he said, "Only if you want to, of course."

_Of course I bloody want to_, Minerva thought. She muttered something unintelligible and then gestured for him to lead the way, which he did eagerly, grabbing her hand as he went past.

The music had a lively beat and, as soon as they found a space amongst the crowd, Minerva found herself being led by Ludo, one of his hands interlocked with hers, the other placed on the small of her back. He was an excellent dancer, making the whole experience seem so effortless that Minerva was sure that if she stopped moving altogether her body would continue to dance.

"Rolanda Hooch told me that you were under oath to dance tonight," Ludo said, spinning her around with such ease that Minerva didn't even realize it was happening until she had stopped.

"Did she?" the witch asked, still recovering from the sensation of being spun.

"I hope you don't mind that I offered my services," Ludo continued, "It just seemed like the perfect opportunity to talk to you; when you couldn't refuse."

"I could've," Minerva said teasingly.

"Ah, but you didn't," Ludo replied with a grin, "And you can't know how pleased that makes me."

He gazed at her and then, without warning, he detached his hand from hers and, grasping the brim of her hat, he lifted it off her head and threw it aside.

"Better," he said.

"You didn't like it?" Minerva asked, caught between self-consciousness and extreme patriotism.

"I did," Ludo assured her quickly, "It was different and I like different. Different is pretty. But now I can see your face properly."

He pulled her a little closer and added quietly, "And I think your face is prettier."

Minerva smiled indulgently, but on the inside she was screaming. Actually, she would've screamed out loud, if her better judgement didn't keep reminding her that she wasn't seventeen anymore; Ludo Bagman, who could've had anybody, thought she was pretty. Or, at least, he thought her to be prettier than a bunch of thistles, which, she supposed, was something of a compliment.

_Don't over think it, Minerva_, she told herself, _for god's sake, don't over think it!_

It was at this point that Ludo got a mischievous look in his eyes. Minerva was about to ask him what he was thinking, when suddenly she was being dipped. Minerva McGonagall was not a woman who was accustomed to being dipped, but, given that she had promised to let go, she let the experience overtake her. Relaxing into his arm, which was supporting her back, she let her head fall backwards, her spine bending gracefully. It was a move that didn't often work for people of her age, but the time she had spent in feline form over the years had left her with a surprising flexibility and suppleness. She came back up laughing, slightly pink in the cheeks, a curl falling out of her tight done hair. Ludo was just staring at her in awe, lips parted.

"Animagus," Minerva explained.

And, in a moment of spontaneity that Rolanda would've been proud of, she spun herself into his chest, his arms wrapping around her. She put her lips close to his ear and whispered, "cat."

At that declaration, Ludo burst out laughing, spinning her outwards, a look of admiration burning in his eyes. He shook his head, almost in disbelief.

"You can't know how pleased that makes me-" Ludo said again, before pausing.

"I was going to call you 'Kitten'," he said, "but you don't strike me as that kind of woman."

"I'm old, you mean," Minerva said jovially, not resenting the comment.

"Actually, I was thinking 'mature' and 'experienced' would be more apt," Ludo said, "You're a Cat, my dear, and I'm dreadfully glad you are."

"I can why you became a diplomat," Minerva responded, feeling very flattered.

Beginning to really enjoy herself, Minerva was disappointed when the song had to end. She clapped for the band and then turned to her partner.

"Thank you," she said, unable to stop herself from smiling.

"Thank _you_," Ludo said, also grinning from ear to ear.

He gently took hold of her hand again and placed a kiss just above her knuckles.

"I have to see some people, token gestures, all that nonsense," the wizard said, sounding genuinely sorry, "But don't get too occupied in the near future. I will be back to claim you for another dance."

"I'll hold you to it," the witch whispered.

"Please do," he whispered back, "Cat."

He gave her a quick wink and turned on his heel, heading through the crowd. Minerva stared after him, feeling slightly lightheaded, her hand absentmindedly pulling at the neck of her dress. She then glanced sideways to see Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown gawking at her in confusion.

Coughing a little with embarrassment, Minerva muttered, "as you were, Finnigan,", before sweeping up her hat and matching off.


End file.
